An Awakening in Paradise
by mariu100
Summary: We all know that a single dream can change the course of someone's life. What if the dream was Brennan's and not Booth's this time around? M rating.
1. And so it starts

*********M Rating*******(Not kidding!)**

The gentle repetitive back and forth motion of the boat was hypnotic and extremely soothing to both mind and body, like gliding in a hammock on a lazy summer day. A slight tip and roll to the left that caused her to be weightless for a fraction of a second, a gentle slide back down. Tip to the right, weightlessness, gentle slide down. The cooling breeze coming in through the small porthole window reinforced the whole out-of-body experience, carrying with it the clean smell of the sea and of something more exotic-orange jasmine, perhaps, or the lingering scent of night-blooming cereus from somebody's inland yard.

Details all, none of any great importance. She didn't want to analyze fragrances and their likely sources right now-didn't want to think at all, just to feel for just this once. And so Brennan consciously let the bones in her body disappear into the elemental rocking motion that was slowly becoming part and parcel of her being, and focused instead on how soft and moist her skin felt, covered as it was in a salty sheen that had unwittingly settled deep into every pore as she lay in bed.

She fisted her hands into the bedding. The satin sheets entwined around her were warm but not uncomfortable; familiar and yet mysteriously sensuous at the same time, making her feel safe and happy as they slid gently over the curves of her body.

She sighed contentedly.

Turning her face slightly, she smiled at the man lying shirtless beside her on that ocean of silk, and in that very first pink light of dawn, she saw him smiling back.

Just a little smile, but it caused erotic pinpricks of anticipation to sashay up and down her spine, until they all seemed to settle in the triangular area just above her legs.

She smiled more rapaciously, hoping he'd get the message already and make some sort of move, but he continued to lie there half-asleep, his eyes running lazily over her satin-covered body.

More stimulation, she decided on a whim, was what was needed if she expected to set certain specific events in motion. She tugged the sheet off and she could see that his breathing quickened considerably, now that the only thing standing between his glittering eyes and the rest of her was a tiny pair of violet panties and a paper-thin white tank top stretched to the very limits of its life. Between the stretch and the years of wear, she knew it left very little to the imagination.

Message signed, sealed, delivered-and apparently, received as well.

Her companion turned on his side and his hand made its way over, burrowing beneath the frayed tank top to settle on her lower abdomen, in that area that was integrally linked to the same nerve endings as the sensitive spot immediately below. He smoothed his hand over her apex on the way down to her inner thighs.

His hand was warm; warmer than her own body. It radiated waves of heat as it roamed over both covered and uncovered skin, and she trembled expectantly under its weight.

He was going slowly, just slowly enough to drive her to the brink of desperation.

"Booth" she mumbled, and a finger finally settled on that expectant triangle, bearing down on her, parting her right down the middle and pushing in with a definite sense of purpose, even with the now wet underwear in the way.

"Off" she commanded breathlessly, and he complied immediately without bothering to wait for the customary 'please'.

The underwear was removed and lost somewhere where it might, quite possibly, never, ever be found, but if Brennan thought she was going to get the goods now, she was sadly disappointed. Booth's hand returned to her abdomen, but instead of sliding back down to where she was already throbbing and ready, it inched it's way upwards to fondle first one breast and then another with calculated precision. The pace was vexing, and she let her head fall back on the pillow in frustration.

She wound up surrendering the reins of the whole operation to her partner. Given that she didn't have much control over the current situation, she might as well enjoy what was happening to her as it was happening, instead of obsessing on an outcome. Isn't that what foregoing all thought was supposed to be about in the first place?

"You're so incredible, Bones..." he said in a tone of wonder. "How do I ever manage to fall asleep at night when I'm laying right here, next to you? Sleeping seems like a huge waste of my time."

"Maybe because when you're done with me and I'm done with you, we are both very tired and very, very satisfied" she answered in a kittenish voice.

"Must be."

He continued with the semi-chaste approach, not making much if any progress, and she began to grow ever more restless.

The delays were only making her want both him and the indispensable _it_ more.

"Kiss me."

Another order, more aggressive this time around. A kiss had to get things really moving-when had it not?

He climbed on top of her, but not before pushing the tank top up by her armpits, so it would be out of the way of his searching fingers. Fingers which were still very much enjoying the utter lack of give of her firm breasts, the hard, puckered surface of her nipples. Booth's mouth came down on hers and she immediately opened herself to him, letting her tongue glide playfully over his lower lip. She bit him slightly and she heard a low, throaty laugh rumble through his chest.

"Yeah" he whispered, before his tongue met hers and all conversation ceased.

The kiss definitely turned out to be the sort of catalyst she was looking for.

Within seconds, her partner was clawing away at his own underwear and positioning himself for their joining. Brennan's hands began caressing the well-defined muscles of his back and broad shoulders, as she took note once again of the enormous strength of his body, always so carefully kept in check when it came to her. It was an incredible turn-on, everything; all that massive physical power just barely contained and now waiting patiently to invade her, how his skin tasted of salt and sun and smelled vaguely of sweat and sunscreen, the way the waves slapped the hull of the boat one after another, how the morning light made her partner's virile, rough-and-ready features come to life.

But most of all, how much he wanted her-how he couldn't seem to ever get enough of her. She had never felt so desired in her entire life.

And in turn, she had never desired anyone more.

She arched her back and made room for him, and she heard his stilted breath as he began entering her little by little, still holding something back, holding back in case it was too much. Undulating to meet him, she finally took him in all the way and his moan was lost in hers.

It went on without any regard to time, each partner giving and receiving pleasure in equal amounts, but neither feeling the need to keep score. And even in this semi-conscious state, Brennan came to the inescapable conclusion that she had never experienced lovemaking like this, so grounded, so real and vibrant. A part of her mind understood that Booth was offering every piece of himself as he made love to her, his soul included, and, giving in to impulse, she went with what ___felt_ right as opposed to what she thought was right and did the same. The difference it made in how the intimate act was experienced was shocking; she wanted him, all of him, in every way, in a crazy, irrational way, and she decided on the spot and for the very first time ever that there was no longer any need to maintain her guard against the man she was having sex with.

It was Booth, and that was enough.

She trusted him with both her body and her heart, and that trust finally carried her on its wings to a wonderful place, where fireworks began exploding around her as his skin burned into hers.

_It's Booth_, she thought with a wild surge of happiness. _It's Booth, and I..._

Somewhere, out there, a masculine voice was calling to her, a voice she recognized but wasn't even remotely expecting to hear at this moment, and she lifted her head from the pillow with a start.

"Hey Tempe," the man said softly, "sorry to make you get up this early, but unless you want to be one of my deckhands today, you better get to shore. Remember, I have that corporate charter group coming at 10. You're welcome to stay and play hostess and pass out beers and sandwiches or bait the hooks though," Sully said with a grin. "Prettiest first mate a captain could ever wish for. Who knows; it might even nab me a better tip at the end of the day, fish or no fish."


	2. Fumble and Recovery

Sully.

Not Booth.

Sully.

Brennan scanned the cabin groggily, half-expecting to find her former partner naked beside her looking as visibly frazzled as she felt, her dream had been so very, very real.

But of course he wasn't there. A cold, heavy weight suddenly made itself right at home in the pit of her stomach.

She sat up with the sheet carefully tucked under her arms and rubbed her eyes, trying to make sense of whatever was happening.

"Charter?" she replied dumbly.

"Babe-you okay?" Sully asked. "I'm sorry-I shouldn't have gotten you up like that. I didn't think you'd be so out of it. You slept alright?"

"Yes, of course" Brennan answered defensively, unfairly feeling like Sully was trying to pry into her inner thoughts when of course, he wasn't. What motive would he even have to want to do a thing like that? Still, she couldn't help the slight resentment she felt towards him-and the guilt.

Because her companion had interrupted that charged, incredibly detailed dream, and because she had no business having it in the first place.

She groped around in her brain's vast storeroom of knowledge, looking for something to explain away her strange behavior.

"I'm fine. I was just in the middle of a dream cycle. REM periods are harder to wake up from, that's all."

"Anything good?" he asked, and she immediately felt a maelstrom of fire rise up from her belly and go straight to her face. The heat made her cheeks tingle.

"Must have been pretty intense. You look like you ran a marathon."

"I can't remember all of it," she lied. "I think it involved some sort of criminal investigation, maybe some experiment."

More lies-bad ones; it wasn't something she'd ever felt comfortable doing.

"That's my Temperance. You can take the girl out of the lab, but you can't take the lab out of the girl."

Sully was talking with a mouthful of toast, and Brennan suddenly found herself taking an intense dislike to that particular habit of his. It was truly inexplicable that it should be bothering her so much right now, when she'd already been dating him for close to three months-it's not like he hadn't done it before in her presence. What the hell was wrong with her?

Bluntly put, this was not turning out to be a very pleasant morning.

She decided to place the blame for her moodiness squarely on how tired she felt. It wasn't anyone's fault, least of all poor Sully's. Late night, too much wine, too hot to sleep well; not a good combination, even in an otherwise idyllic tropical setting.

After managing to catch her breath somewhat, Brennan got out of bed slowly, the cobwebs of that unnerving dream still draped all over her mind like a shroud. Her eyes came into focus and she noticed that Sully was looking at her with the eyes of a man on the prowl.

She looked down at herself. In a weird coincidence that caused her confidence to fall even further, she was wearing the same white tank top she had on in her nighttime escapade; given how little it hid and the sexual nature of her relationship with Sully, it was only logical that his male interest would be piqued as the sheet fell away.

"Maybe it's not too late for a little something extra" he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

That was the final straw. Temperance Brennan, who normally didn't possess an ounce of modesty in her entire being, feeling embarrassed by the fact that the man she was dating was openly staring at her body. Modesty was unnatural, a learned behavior meant to keep perfectly normal impulses in check; she knew that. So why was she suddenly feeling so exposed?

More blame went to the wine and the heat.

Grabbing the nearest cover-up, she pulled a dirty t-shirt over her head and forced herself to smile.

"I really need to get going. Professor Ayamii from the Caribbean Anthropological Institute is waiting for me at his office. He and his students are excavating a pre-Columbian site in the western part of the island. They're in the process of uncovering human remains and artifacts which were partially unearthed during the last hurricane, and he wants me to accompany him to the dig this morning. I mentioned it to you yesterday."

"Yeah, I remember you telling me something about that. Guess the black bikini you were wearing at the time completely wiped it off my mind."

She looked at the bedside clock in a manner she hoped might pass for surprise.

"I overslept; I have to be there in less than an hour and I still have to get dressed. I can't be late-I'm sorry."

The list of fabrications kept growing.

The meeting wasn't in an hour; more like two, but she absolutely had to get off this boat as soon as possible-she felt like she was suffocating. Maybe she could kill some time before the actual appointment by walking around the small downtown area, near where the Institute stood, and perhaps getting something to eat.

"Your call," Sully answered, not sounding terribly disappointed. "It was a long-shot anyway. After the charter, then?"

She nodded on her sprint to the cabin's lone bathroom.

"Maybe," she answered noncommitally. She closed the door behind her just as the sound of blood thumping in her ears was starting to become unbearable.

Only when she was tightly locked inside the tiny bathroom did she feel like she could finally loosen up even a little. She splashed bottled water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror.

She was a wreck. Startled eyes, pink cheeks, tangled hair, and an overall look of complete shock that no bottled water could erase.

Fitting too, because she felt like a wreck.

It had all been so real she thought, as her heart kept racing. She had been with Booth. Been with him in ___that _way. His breath had warmed her neck and shoulders, her breasts, the dip just below her ribcage; his tongue had probed the inside of her mouth with soft insistence, his hands had been all over every inch of her body. He'd been pulsing within her, and she had wrapped her arms and legs around him in return to keep him exactly where he was because it had felt so good to have him inside her.

She blinked several times in quick succession, trying to make the disorientation and the sudden throbbing between her legs go away. No, not real, she told herself, no matter how it felt. None of it was real, especially not the strange sensation of emptiness, the giant void in the center of her chest that only seemed to increase as she became more and more attuned to her surroundings.

Absolutely not real; none of it. The images, the feelings, were simply an illusion. She was with Sully in Sully's boat, at least 1,500 miles and more than four weeks away from Booth. This was Anguilla, not D.C.; the Caribbean Sea, not the Potomac. There was no jasmine, just the smell of diesel fuel and of aging seaweed floating in the warm oily water of the picturesque small harbor.

And the dream meant nothing; probably just her psyche's way of processing the fact that after years of working with him, she was no longer Booth's partner.

Of course she was bound to miss him a little after they'd spent all that time working together.

It would all pass soon enough, she said to herself. Today's field trip would keep her busy and mentally engaged, and she would return to Sully's boat later this afternoon in exactly the same frame of mind that had possessed her last night, before the appearance of this morning's awkward, highly inconvenient chimera.

Dreams were funny that way; they came and went with equal ease, and no matter how solid they seemed upon first waking, by the end of the day little if anything of them was left behind for the dreamer to dissect.

When she finally dug up the courage to emerge from the bathroom to get dressed, Sully had already gone topside to prepare for his group of businessmen and she breathed a sigh of relief. She really didn't want to change in front of him-not right now, not next to those same sheets that seemed to hold something of what Booth and her had definitely _not_ been doing on them.

For a moment, she seriously considered laying down on the bed one more time to experience some of the more lively aspects of the dream in her head before the whole thing completely faded away, but she decided right on the spot that indulging her fancy that way was a terrible idea, for reasons any intelligent person really didn't need to spell out. So after putting on her clothes and avoiding the temptation of the suddenly illicit satin sheets, she went upstairs and gave Sully a quick kiss on the cheek, ignoring the fact that he was probably expecting something much more substantial by way of goodbye.

"Don't forget that you can stop at my friend John's tennis club if you want a real, fresh water shower. I know you don't like how the water from the tank smells. Sure you can't take a 10 minute breather?" he added, squinting in the bright sun and smiling at her in his most winning way.

"I'm sorry-I really have to go" she replied, already running down the ramp on her way to hail a taxi at the far end of the dock. Sully shrugged and waved her off before turning his attention back to his fishing rods.

She was relieved that he didn't seem too hung up on her hasty farewell.

A breather, she definitely needed a breather, but not of the variety that her companion had in mind. Just a little time to think, or maybe not to think, and everything would be fine.


	3. About Last Night

The narrow road up to the excavation site was bumpy and overall pretty hard on the nerves, consisting as it did primarily of tight s-curves that left little room between the tires of the small bus and the steep drop-offs that led straight down to the ocean below. But while some of the students sitting next to her periodically closed their eyes and gripped their seats in trepidation, the trip actually didn't faze Brennan one bit. She'd been on far more hazardous journeys, and at least there was no danger of kidnapping or execution on this one.

Besides, she had full confidence in Professor Ayamii's driving skills. He steered the van back and forth on the left side of the road easily, avoiding oncoming trucks on the right and skirting bicycles and motorcycles everywhere with an aplomb that few would have failed to be anything but impressed by.

"And as you'll see for yourself shortly, Doctor Brennan, the project still has a long way to go, so please don't set the bar too high for us" Ayamii said amiably, his eyes never straying too far from what lay in front of him.

"We have volunteers from around the globe that come and go, but it's still mainly a labor of love by my students and me, and as a consequence, the work proceeds slowly, even by island standards. Unfortunately, this last tropical depression set us back and made a muddy pit of the area, but I think we're close to where we were before it hit. At least the contents of the middens and the bone fragments in the first grid were removed and secured in time. The post holes for the huts were temporarily lost, but we're currently in the process of uncovering those again."

"It's very kind of you to invite me along and to share your knowledge about this intriguing discovery with me, especially given the fact that I wasn't able to provide you with more notice of my visit."

"Doctor Brennan, you're more than welcome" Ayamii said warmly, glancing back at her on one of the less hazardous stretches of pavement. "It's a joy to see you again-no less to be able to introduce you to my students."

His Asian features were weather-beaten from years of working out in the sun, but the professor's dark eyes sparkled with good humor and vitality. He was elegant and neat even in his casual khaki shorts and white button down short-sleeved shirt, and his close-cropped, shiny salt-and-pepper hair, now hidden by a large-brimmed explorer's hat that matched Brennan's own, was carefully groomed, just as she remembered it to be back when she'd sat in as a guest on some of his lectures.

"It's definitely an honor having you here-we don't normally get celebrities of your stature at our humble institution. And you yourself said you had no idea until a week ago that this is where you and your friend might be settling. How then could you have provided me with any more notice? Please don't feel like you're imposing in the slightest-on the contrary, you're a resource that my students are more than fortunate to have access to, for a long as you decide to make Anguilla your home. You'll always be welcome at the Institute, as well as at the house I share with my long-suffering wife, Amelia. As soon as you know more about your future plans, I'm going to extend you and your partner, Mr. Sullivan, an invitation to join us for dinner; my wife makes an excellent conch salad. Her Planter's Punches aren't too bad either" he joked.

Partner-how strange was it hearing any name other than Booth's used in that context, even if that's not how Professor Ayamii meant it. He already knew she and Sully were only linked romantically and that at this point, it had nothing to do with work.

The professor turned his attention back to the aide next to him and began going over the day's itinerary, and Brennan settled back into her seat, taking in the tropical scenery. It was undeniably beautiful, just like Sully said it would be. Paradise, he called it, and it was as close to a stereotypical image of paradise as one could get. Infinitely blue skies and even bluer waters, in so many pure, clear shades, that a poet would have had a hard time keeping track. As many hues as Inuits had words for snow and ice; perhaps many, many more.

The island consisted mainly of scrub especially the higher up they went, but it still felt very green and lush, due to all the mop-topped palm trees lining the snowy beaches below and to the masses of flowering bushes and trees which the islanders had sprinkled wherever they could. Even in the arid, forbiddingly windy climate, vegetation had managed to grab a foothold in just about every inch of available space.

The bouganvilleas and the bright orange-red Poinciana trees, which loved hot weather, were particularly breathtaking against the blinding whiteness of the homes that provided their backdrop. She could theoretically stay put here for a long time, she thought in passing-perhaps working at the Institute with Ayamii-the locale was so beautiful. The professor had mentioned that his duties involved not only the current dig at Anguilla, but also extensive travel around the Caribbean and South America supervising other excavations, so she wasn't risking an onset of ennui by accepting the tentative offer he'd made her this morning to join his foundation if she and Sully decided to stay on the island more permanently.

Except that now she had one very large hurdle to contend with: she no longer felt even as remotely satisfied with her life today as she'd felt less than twenty four hours ago.

But Anguilla...she had to confess that it was nice being back on land, around other people. The open ocean was definitely a novelty, but one that she'd quickly grown weary of. Even during their first week out of Washington, she was surprised to find that she missed the company of her coworkers, and of one of them in particular. And even though the slight seasickness she experienced at the beginning of their trip had gone away and she could honestly say she'd finally gotten her sea legs, she had recently begun thirsting for something more stimulating to occupy her time than just helping Sully around the boat and watching the waves go by.

She didn't fish, the internet seldom worked, and her journals had inexplicably started to bore her. The sightseeing breaks they'd taken along the way before reaching their current destination had served as pleasant distractions, but not quite to the extent she had expected.

She simply needed more.

Of what? That's what she was aiming to find out.

It was incredibly thoughtful and generous of Sully, though, to stop at the small West Indies protectorate and give his charter business a try after only four weeks out at sea, especially considering that he'd originally wanted to sail around the world with her for much longer before settling down. She'd attempted to hide it as well as she could, but Sully had obviously sensed that she was growing restless; like Booth, his people-reading skills were impeccable. And thus, the minute she mentioned her acquaintance with Ayamii and her interest in the work his foundation was doing, her companion had made the decision to drop anchor in Anguilla, just like that.

She shook her head. If she could only still possess even a small amount of that spontaneity of Sully's...

Perhaps working at the same place with the same people for an extended period of time took that ability away from you as a matter of course. Time and time again, studies had reinforced the notion that relationships caused one to compromise, in every possible way. Add to that the fact that she was getting older and thus naturally becoming more inflexible, and what she was left with was an instant recipe for personal and professional stagnation.

It was a harsh reality she had to come to grips with: remaining mentally pliable was now something she had to work hard at; it no longer came easily, like it had when she was younger.

Not for Sully though, she conceded. He was...in truth, he defied explanation, she thought with a fond smile. Perhaps that's what had appealed to her about him in the first place-the unpredictability, the boundless energy, the inextinguishable enthusiasm. Sometimes he reminded her of a puppy, in good and bad ways. His short attention span as he bounced from one thing to the next was often disconcerting, but the other side of that coin was that he possessed a passion for living that she'd never encountered in anyone else before.

No matter how she felt this morning, going away with Sully had been a good thing, and she knew it. How could she possibly be harboring any doubts about that? Agreeing to get on his boat, leaving behind all the people and things she'd grown a little too comfortable with had been difficult, yes; more than difficult, if she had to be honest. It had actually worn her out emotionally, but it would all be worth it in the end, of that she was certain. The sudden change in routine was already shattering stale patterns that seemed to have taken over her life and given her roots she didn't want, and it would also hopefully give her a fresh perspective on life as well.

About that dream though...

Why on earth did her mind keep coming back to _that_? What was it about it that was so unsettling? Erotic dreams were not all that uncommon-so where was the novelty in this particular one, other than she knew the other participant extremely well?

Was it the crisp, graphic visuals that held such power over her, or was it something else-something that maybe she shouldn't be addressing if she wanted her relationship with Sully to survive?

She unconsciously replayed the part of her dream when Booth was over her, thrusting hard into her body as she moaned with pleasure, and as much as she didn't want to, she felt a flutter of excitement flush her skin.

_Booth...Booth..._

Whatever it was she was feeling this morning was centered around him and not just the sex, that much she'd already figured out.

She couldn't resist; she thought of her former partner, of how since their very first and highly contentious case together, she'd felt a wild attraction to him that was completely out of character for her.

But why not? He _was_ attractive. Tall and strong and masculine, with liquid, dark, compelling eyes that seemed capable of seeing well beyond what was on any surface, including hers. But the dream had been more than just about physical attraction, hadn't it?

And there it was, right there, the very heart of the problem.

It wasn't just the idea of having sex with Booth that had suddenly made her so reflective; it was the ongoing romantic relationship with him that the dream implied existed between them already that she was apparently left longing for. Not the work relationship-they obviously already had that. It was the possibility of a highly intimate, longstanding connection with her former partner that had played out inside her head like a movie on Sully's bed this morning, and which apparently had received rave reviews from her sleepy, for-once uncensored psyche.

How foolish was it to miss something that didn't, and might never, exist, she wondered. To be tempted to sideline a wonderful, kind guy who was in love with her along with the potential for a brand new life, for a fantasy that would most likely never develop any substance. Who's to say that even if she went back to Washington and they slept together, a lasting romantic relationship could ever even develop between her and Booth?

In all likelihood, it would all fizzle out within a few weeks once their disparate personalities, their many insurmountable differences, came to the forefront once again, as they almost surely would once the initial burst of hormones brought on by sexual ardor began to abate. Once that happened, everything from what they ate, to their attitudes on faith, to their beliefs about love and its permanence would again resurface as a point of acrid contention between them, the focal point of their interactions as always, with any emerging feelings of real attachment coming in a distant second.

And then where would that leave her and their professional partnership? She would more than certainly be able to continue working with Booth, to remain objective and dispassionate once the predictable break-up happened, but she was as sure as she'd ever been of anything that he wouldn't be able to do that.

Emotional disassociation was not one of Booth's strengths.

There was a very sound, very logical reason why workplaces discouraged their employees from sleeping together-it seldom if ever ended well for anyone. No wonder she had fought so hard against temptation all those years ago when she left him standing speechless in the rain after a heated kiss.

The forward motion of the bus stopped abruptly, accompanied by the grinding sound of rocks being sprayed outwards as the pavement ran out and gave way to gravel, and Brennan's straying thoughts rallied back around her. She was immensely thankful to be back in the present, on top of a hot, windy hill overlooking the Caribbean Sea, far away from Booth and the many untold dangers he suddenly posed.


	4. Words of Wisdom

"This is as far as the road goes; the rest of the trip we have to do on foot to avoid damaging the fragile ecosystem. It's right over there" the professor said, pointing towards some stunted tamarind trees on an eroding bluff.

The excavation site itself was interesting to Brennan, but not more so than the man heading the dig. There was almost no one who met him who wasn't immediately won over by Professor Aguri Ayamii's intelligence and his personal magnetism. She remembered him well from several conferences they had attended together, and lectures of his she had sat in on many years ago, when she was still a student.

The opportunity to work with one of her personal heroes was yet another reason to stick with her current plan-one more check mark on the "stay where you are and don't panic over nothing" column.

"So, what are your thoughts on our amateur attempts?" Ayamii asked as he emerged from the van. "Be honest now."

She surveyed the rocky, windswept landscape. A single tent shielded a portion of the gridded digging area, but otherwise, the volunteers that were already beginning their tedious work with small shovels and brushes had to make do with hats and sunscreen.

"I would hardly refer to your efforts as amateurish, Dr. Ayamii. Given what I assume must be the minuscule budget at your disposal, I believe you have made great strides in preserving the remains of this ancient culture. Until your discovery, no one thought the Arawak tribes had made it to this part of the Caribbean earlier than the late 12th century."

"Not entirely my discovery. A group of bird-watching tourists found the first object-a mortar-jutting out of the ground about 9 months ago. With hurricane season approaching, I got our local St. James Medical School to fund the first phase of the excavation before any objects were lost. This outcrop is slowly starting to fall into the ocean, which is probably why the mortar originally came to light. Our Institute largely depends on the largesse of St. James. The members of their Board of Trustees offered to help as soon as they heard of our plight; they understood the great historical importance of the find."

"Naturally, they would defer to you; you're brilliant, Professor Ayamii" she said, still somewhat of the star-struck acolyte. "You were the head of the Anthropological Studies Department at Boston University, and a leading expert in the field of anthropology."

The professor seemed pleased by the compliment.

"That was over ten years ago, Dr. Brennan; who thinks about those things now? But thank you for your kind words and your far too forgiving memories of me," he replied humbly.

"Frankly," Brennan said, after a small moment of internal debate, "I was surprised to find that you were here, working in Anguilla; I knew you had left your previous post voluntarily, which I must confess puzzles me to this day. It was a highly coveted and respected position. I can't understand why you would give up such a prestigious title at the height of your career to work in such an inconspicuous setting."

"I've always liked your directness, Dr. Brennan" Ayamii replied with a laugh. "None of the empty niceties so many people today count as conversation. You're wondering why I left relative fame and a fortune of opportunities behind to come here and start this practically anonymous, always struggling organization in Anguilla, which must seem like the end of the world compared to a large cosmopolitan city like Boston."

"Yes, I suppose I am. It was must have been a dramatic change in lifestyle not only in terms of salary and resources available at your disposal, but also in the inherent curtailment of your research opportunities. You could have easily overseen this project while still remaining affiliated with the University."

"Yes, I suppose I might have. And oh, it certainly was a change for me; that part goes without saying. When I was in Boston, the world was my oyster, as Americans say. In fact, I got to do almost everything I wanted, except for the one thing that meant the most to me-being out in the field every day, digging up" he stretched out his hand over the barren terrain, "this. Not just overseeing someone else's work; actually doing it myself."

He squinted up into the sun and smiled knowingly, as if he'd just remembered something pleasant.

"There was also another reason for the unexpected detour in my career. I met my future wife at a conference where I was scheduled to be a guest speaker. She was only there to please a friend, which is rather amusing considering how just about everyone else there had a doctorate in anthropology. Somehow we started talking after my lecture was over. We continued to meet regularly after that, and before we realized what was happening, we'd fallen in love. Amelia's family is from Anguilla; she was planning to return at some point because she missed the island so much. When I came here to meet her parents just before our wedding, I was struck by the beauty of the place, and-strange as it sounds to most people-I decided almost immediately not to return to my job in Boston."

Brennan's eyes widened in disbelief.

"You _must_ have given such a major decision a great deal of consideration; it couldn't have been as simple to make as it sounds," Brennan said.

"Actually, it was. I can't really say what compelled me to do it; only that it _felt_ right. After some lively discussions with Amelia and my coworkers back at Boston, I resigned my post and started looking for ways in which I could put my skills to work here. It's how my little foundation got its start, with the help and support of former colleagues and new friends and the indefatigable assistance of my wife. I can hop on a boat or a small plane and go to the other islands without much trouble, so my life is fairly exciting. As our name implies, the Institute serves the entire Caribbean region. If you decide to join me here, you won't have a single dull day ahead of you, I promise. Give it time, and the place will win you over too."

Ayamii could see that his former pupil was still baffled by his explanation, and his head cocked to one side as he looked at her curiously.

"It's funny that you should be asking me about why I'm in Anguilla and how I could have turned my back on my life in Boston, with all of its material benefits. You're here in Anguilla too. In essence, you just did the very same thing. The Jeffersonian is a world-renowned institution, and you one of its biggest luminaries. Yet, you left."

"That's true, but I'm only taking a sabbatical for a year," Brennan replied defensively.

"A day, a week, a year, ten years; the amount of time doesn't matter, as long as you're pursuing what you love surrounded by the people you love. I'm assuming you're currently doing that, and if that's the case, it's a wonderful thing."

"Yes" she answered, without much conviction.

Was she really doing what she loved, or what Sully loved? And more to the point, was she doing it with someone she loved? She liked Sully very much, that much she knew, or she wouldn't have left with him in the first place. They were sexually compatible, for sure. But love? She didn't think she was anywhere near being able to put a label on what she felt for him, it seemed like so much of a commitment.

And then there was Booth, and the complicated feelings she was only now discovering she apparently had for him, maybe had had for a while without realizing it.

"You do seem happy here" Brennan told the professor, skirting around the subject of her own lack of contentment. "Not only professionally, but personally as well. You must have a lot in common with your wife."

Ayamii laughed.

"No, actually, we don't have much in common at all. Remember, she was only at that conference to make a friend happy-she has very little interest in either anthropology or archaeology, although she helps out at the Institute because she likes to indulge me. She's a painter, an artist-it's her calling; I'm not ashamed to admit that a good part of our income comes from the sale of her beautiful watercolors at local and international galleries. I, as you know, am a scientist through and through. She operates with her heart, I with my mind. But what we do share goes much deeper than such superficial commonalities. Our joint passion for what we're doing at any given time no matter what it may be, our desire to make life a little better for others, our incessant need to bring meaning to what surrounds us, whether it be with a paintbrush or a shovel."

He looked at Brennan, holding her gaze with his bright eyes.

"And something else; something much more mysterious and almost impossible to describe. A connection between our souls, if you can believe that I would be arguing on behalf of the existence of such a thing, it sounds like such new-age drivel. It's a concept I would have scoffed at when I was younger, but which I have come to terms with in my twilight years. Maybe I've grown old and overly-emotional" he chortled, and with that the spell he'd woven around Brennan was finally broken. "Whatever it is, I consider myself to be a very lucky man indeed to have found it. I imagine most people go through life unconsciously searching for this very same thing without much success. I can tell you with complete conviction though, that the bond I share with my wife is far more meaningful to me than any title or academic honor ever was. Status symbols and professional accomplishments can only take you so far; heart and mind have to come together at some point for life to be lived well."

Brennan didn't know how to respond to the professor's comment, but his words had definitely hit an exposed-and very raw-nerve. Rationally, she couldn't relate to any of it because she didn't believe in souls or magical connections, but something about what he said still resonated within her as she stared at the sharp, blue horizon far off in the distance.

Doing what you love with someone you love...

"Sometimes, you have to act purely on instinct and impulse in order to get the most out of life, not just stick to what, on the surface, seems like the most logical option. It certainly worked for me. Perhaps that is why _you_ are here."

Brennan shook her head.

"I'm unable to operate on instinct," she stated resolutely. "And I seldom do things on impulse. It's almost impossible to guarantee specific outcomes if you neglect to take all variables into account beforehand. When I began to contemplate the possibility of distancing myself from the Jeffersonian and my work with the FBI, I weighed the pros and cons of my decision very carefully. Leaving was the most rational, intelligent choice for me at the time. There was little to lose, and yet the prospect of a large intellectual and possibly emotional reward resulting from my journey."

Even as she gave her impressive speech her words sounded hollow in her ears. Little to lose? She had lost what amounted to her family by saying goodbye to her friends at the Jeffersonian. And Booth, had she lost him too? The mere thought caused her heart to constrict painfully-that he might already be starting to forget about her, moving on with his life as if she'd never been a part of it...It was hard to accept that their years-long partnership, so full of big and little moments, all of them incredibly important to her, might be reduced to a few yellowing articles in a scrapbook for him.

The professor nodded approvingly. "Well, then your instincts and your logic happened to coincide on this occasion. It's always a happy accident when that happens. If you felt you had to leave, then it means you must not have been entirely satisfied with where you were at in your life-it must have been your heart speaking to you."

Brennan remained silent; she couldn't think of a single thing to say to her former mentor in response. Contrary to the conclusion Ayamii had just erroneously reached, she'd always been very satisfied with her work and her relationships at the Jeffersonian, and especially her relationship with Booth; maybe all that this trip with Sully had actually accomplished was to make that fact crystal clear. And maybe the turmoil she was currently experiencing was the result of her not listening to her heart enough-if at all-before she left.

The old adage, _you never know what you have until you lose it, _rang so loudly inside her head that it made it nearly impossible for her to concentrate on what the professor was telling her about his future plans for the Institute.

She needed to change the tenor of the conversation as soon as possible, because rather than providing to be a soothing distraction from her troubles, Ayamii's words were making her even more restless than she'd started out. How could she be lacking in self-awareness to such a degree that she was now suffering from buyer's remorse after only four weeks into her new life? She'd caused a significant disruption at the Jeffersonian by taking her sabbatical, and in the process filled one man with false hope while reneging on her partnership with another, and all for what? How could something so obvious to her now have been so obscure only a month ago? Not even her absurdly high IQ could have prepared her for the smarting blow to her pride that was admitting she didn't know a single thing about herself when and where it mattered most.

And if she changed direction once again, so many people to have to explain her actions to...

It was far too much to digest in one sitting.

She stood up a little straighter, and forced herself to smile with interest.

"So please, tell me more about your plans for a local museum."

I have to mention that there's a certain line in this chapter which is very close to something said in the "Honeymoon" episode. Honest, I posted this weeks before that episode aired. A case of art imitating, well, ff I guess. :)


	5. Already Gone

_Nice catch, guest-had the name Michael stuck in the brain!_

With thoughts of a nice, leisurely champagne Sunday brunch on his mind, Sully grabbed the two hefty brown paper bags from the trunk of the cab and nodded a friendly goodbye to the driver.

It might be sweet, but life in Anguilla sure didn't come cheap; $38.55 for milk, a few bagels, cream cheese, some fruit, orange juice and a bottle of bubbly he'd never heard of, which he earnestly prayed hadn't been sitting in a warm storage room for too long. This charter business of his better be taking off soon, or they'd be relying entirely on bread and water-and in his case, sushi-to sustain them. Of course, his girlfriend was a millionaire, so she could probably fend for herself.

He set foot on the boarding ramp, absently whistling some made-up tune, when he realized that Brennan was watching him from the deck of his boat. Watching and waiting, but not with the welcoming smile he'd been counting on.

"We need to talk," she said softly.

He shook his head as one of the corners of his mouth went up in a sardonic half-smile.

He was getting dumped.

Dumped with those four hackneyed words that no one ever wants to be on the receiving end of, but that rarely if ever come as a real surprise to the listener. He certainly wasn't surprised. Based on what he'd been sensing from her over these last few days, he knew that they were imminent. If not today, then tomorrow or the day after. But that didn't make them any more pleasant.

He continued walking up the ramp slowly, unconsciously crushing the groceries against his chest, stuck in a sense of inevitability that seemed to have ensnared his tongue along with his legs, leaving everything heavy, just like lead. As soon as his feet hit the deck though, he immediately leapt into action. He threw the pricey groceries on the varnished wood floor, not caring where or how they landed. It didn't matter if everything spoiled or exploded on its broiling-hot surface; if he didn't strike right now, _right now_, it was over.

It might very well be over as it was.

Travel clothes, bags at her feet, purse dangling from her shoulder-and lips and eyes set in a look of unyielding resolve so grave and unapproachable, it scared him. But no matter how sure she thought she was in her decision, he wasn't ready to give her up that easily to her fears and misgivings, whatever they were. Timothy Sullivan had a plan.

After all, he'd had days to prepare.

The warning bells had been unmistakable-he realized many people thought he lacked direction, but that didn't equate with being a clueless idiot. For the last four days he'd watched his girlfriend take almost comical measures to avoid touching him or being touched by him-especially in bed-for all sorts of nothing reasons. Headaches because she was out in the sun too long, exhaustion after an excursion around the island that required immediate rest, even once because she said he smelled too much like raw fish despite the fact that he'd already showered.

Raw fish! Christ, that's what he did for a living; took the slimy little buggers out of the water, gutted them, and piled them into a cooler-what he'd been doing for more than a month. And yet suddenly it was a problem for her? Tons of fun in bed for weeks, and then zip, no believable explanation for why she no longer wanted anything to do with him? For why she kept scooting so far away from him at night that he was afraid she was going to end up conking her head on the floor after accidentally falling off the edge of the bed in her sleep?

But it wasn't just that, although that by itself was certainly more than bad enough.

Their conversations had also grown progressively more stilted and forced, until everything they said to each other felt scripted, and not scripted with any sort of finesse; the natural cadence of their evening chats had suddenly stopped, like a well gone dry. No mention of their joint plans and dreams anymore; just empty, disconnected remarks, mostly about impersonal stuff neither of them really gave a rat's ass about. The island's topography, the local cuisine, entertainment options in town, and of all clichéd things, the weather.

_ The weather_, he had snorted to himself when she brought it up.

Could it _be_ any more obvious? The skittish eyes that refused to hold his for too long, the whole stiff, closed-off body language; it all spelled out spectacular failure for them as a couple.

She was distancing, of course; for whatever reason, she was suddenly pulling away from him physically and emotionally, and he couldn't seem to do anything to get them back on track.

He just wished, really really wished, that she'd given their relationship more of an honest chance. How could she not see how good they were for each other, how perfectly matched, in every possible regard?

She looked gorgeous as usual, dressed in her simple white shirt and jeans, standing by the brass railing of the bow with the blue background of the ocean and her pink cheeks making her forget-me-not eyes stand out all the more. Her hair was billowing around her in the light wind, and blondish streaks from weeks of sun exposure were making it glow, lighting up her face and giving it some sort of celestial aura.

She looked like a freakin' goddess, Sully thought with a stab of pain; beautiful and icy and already far removed from this land of common mortals as she prepared to make her escape back to the heavens where she so obviously belonged.

It was unbearably painful to think that this one-of-a-kind woman, so amazing in so many ways, was on the brink of walking out of his life after giving him a glimpse for only a few short weeks of just how good things could be.

As determined as she was to carry this through, he noticed that she also seemed to be feeling remorseful. It was there just below the surface, in her quivering lower lip, in the glaze of moisture brightening her eyes. They were all portents that foretold a tale of dashed expectations and a broken heart-his, specifically. But maybe there was still some hope for their relationship. Because as long as she felt anything for him, even pity, he might be able to get her to rethink what she was on the verge of doing.

"What do we need to talk about, Temperance?" he asked, allowing himself the luxury of pretending just for a minute that he had no idea what this was all about, that the talk she was alluding to was more a whole lot more innocent than it was bound to be.

"I've decided to return to Washington."

There it was, out in the open, without any sugar-coating, exactly like he'd grown to expect from her.

"I'm sorry, Sully. I can't stay with you in Anguilla."

The pristine beauty of the quiet, balmy morning made the moment that much harder to accept.

"It's the damn job, isn't it?" he said, beginning to pace the deck as the frustration mounted, doing his best to try to stay one step ahead of her. Intellectually, it was like trying to beat a god-damned Russian chess master. But emotionally he knew, he had the edge, hands down. He just had to find the right, _reasonable_ words to get to her.

"Temperance, I'm offering you a life here, a full life, not just one that involves working 24/7. What's so bad about that? I thought you were going to come to this with an open mind; it actually seemed to be working for a while. You were relaxed, you sure as heck looked happy. So what changed in the last couple of days? What triggered this out-of-the-blue mood swing?"

Sully could see the litany of excuses being marshalled behind the now closed eyes, excuses she'd probably been rehearsing for days.

"I miss DC, I miss the Jeffersonian-my friends." It came out all at once, as if she was afraid of leaving something important out.

"And I miss working with Booth" she added belatedly, in an apparent moment of unguarded honesty that immediately put Sully on edge.

_Booth_. She missed working with Booth. What appeared to be only an afterthought, could very well be a major slip-up instead.

"Friends?" Sully asked with wide-eyed exasperation. "We're making great friends here already. We must have at least four standing invitations to go out to dinner from decent, smart, fun people, including your professor guy, and we've only been here a few days. Work? Got that covered too, babe; you're gonna have your hands full with all that's going on with Ayamii and the Institute. You were really excited about all that just a couple of days ago-you couldn't stop talking about it. And Booth" he added, with an automatic roll of the eyes, "you guys fought _all_ the time, Tempe; that's all I ever saw you people do. You and I...you must have noticed how well the two of us got along these last couple of weeks, especially by comparison-it's different, it's nice. We complement each other well-there's no conflict; our life, our relationship, doesn't revolve around work. How can you not appreciate how amazing and rare a connection like that is?"

"You fought _all the time_!" he repeated more heatedly.

Brennan took a deep breath, and he could see that she was struggling to come up with something-anything-to say to him in response. He took comfort in her silence, a sign that perhaps he'd given her something real to hold onto and think about.

"You can see that, can't you?" he added coaxingly. "You just need to give this whole new life a chance, Tempe. Will you, please?"

She continued to look at him like a cornered animal, saying nothing.

It was becoming clearer by the second that no matter what he said or how he said it, her mind was already made up. He threw his hands up in the air in a gesture of utter bewilderment.

"I don't get it-I don't. We have everything here, Tempe; _everything_; when we got here a week ago you thought that same thing too-don't try to deny it, because I saw it. It's _logical_ to want to stay, for cryin' out loud. The irrational thing to do in this situation is to want to run."

He stepped forward to take her hand only to be hurt when she pulled it away from him.

"Wait" he threw out, as an incredible thought crossed his mind-incredible, yes, but not implausible. "Is _that_ what you're missing about being with Seeley-the bickering, the constant butting of heads over nothing that we don't do?"

At the mention of her former partner's first name, Brennan turned her head and stared off into the distance.

Sully's eyes caught the evasive tactic and they immediately narrowed, as he took a step back, practically recoiling in shock. So he was right, after all. There it was, wasn't it, in big, bold, spray-painted letters, a slap to the psyche like the jolt of seeing ugly graffiti on a pristine white garage. Booth wasn't the only FBI agent with great instincts and an almost infallible skill to see through people's lies-or in this case, their inability to come up with the whole truth.

"Or is it _him_ you miss?" he added in a near-whisper, daring to give shape to the unspoken fears he'd harbored before they'd even left Washington.


	6. Over and Out

_Thanks in heaps for all the kind comments, especially the ones from guests. Since I can't thank some of you guys personally, let me say merci and gracias here. Hope you enjoy this one!_

"Well?"

Brennan kept staring at the coastline, her eyes seemingly riveted to a cluster of palm trees swaying in unison on a nearby beach.

"That's it, isn't it," Sully concluded in a blank voice as her silence dragged on.

He was feeling empty, now that he'd finally come to grips with the fact that the battle for Temperance Brennan was already lost. Had probably been lost long before it ever began. There was no way a man made of flesh and blood could win against an idealized rival whose many flaws were too far away for his girlfriend to see.

"You miss him, Seeley-not just the job." He looked up absently at a low-hanging jet making its way to the local airport, feeling sucker-punched by the discovery. In an hour or two, that same plane might be taking her far, far away from here. How could this nightmare be happening, he wondered sourly? It was the one contingency he hadn't prepared for-that she could be yearning not for something but for someone else, her abrasive, taciturn former partner least of all.

Made worse by the fact that she couldn't even bring herself to refute the charges, not even for decency's sake.

"All this time I thought if I could only get you away from the lab, even for a little while, you would come to see the world like I saw it, big, exciting, full of possibilities-full of _life_. I managed to take you away from the place alright, but it wasn't the work I couldn't tear you away from-apparently, I just couldn't pry you away from _him_. Are you in love with Booth?" Sully asked abruptly, a smattering of cold hostility peppering his voice.

She finally found the courage to face him.

And now that he had her full attention, he wished her thoughts were still on those damn palm trees, because he hated what he saw on her expression: confusion, grief-and absolute proof that their life together had come to an end.

"I...I don't know. All I know is that I miss being with him. Please believe me when I say that this revelation caught me completely by surprise when it came to me a few days ago." She looked positively tormented, and Sully knew that what she was saying was most likely the truth-she really hadn't considered the possibility that she might be in love with Booth until just recently. From anyone else he wouldn't have believed it, but this was Temperance Brennan they were talking about, and it was almost impossible to think otherwise about her.

"Well, that's quite an admission coming from you," he scoffed bitterly. "You're a frickin' genius, for the love of god; here I thought you knew everything."

She ignored the biting comment, but he could tell it had chipped away at some of her self-esteem.

"I would have never left with you, Sully, made that kind of commitment-led you to think we might have a future-if I had even the most minor suspicion that I had any feelings for Booth other than respect and friendship."

"Oh, I believe you," he replied with a short burst of contemptuous laughter. "Temperance, you're the bluntest human being I know. Point and shoot with you every single time-leave no man standing. The truth always, no matter who gets mowed down in the process."

He saw her cringe at his description of her, because in this context, the reference to her well-known lack of tact was decidedly not meant as a compliment, and there was no way she could mistake the obvious insult for anything but what it was.

But for once, to hell with sparing _her_ feelings, Sully thought; he was angry, and there was nothing she could say or do to change that. The only consolation he could take was that at least she wasn't making light of his fury by trying to defend herself for actions which were-in his book-completely indefensible.

After a long moment of heavy, awful silence in which he pointedly refused to acknowledge that she was even in his presence, he finally sat down on one of the life-jacket lockers, shoulders slumped and tension unexplainably gone. A shadow of a penitent smile began to form on his lips.

"I'm sorry; what I should have said is that you're the most honest person I know, and just left it at that," he said, speaking to her with a renewed attempt at civility. This situation wasn't her fault-it just...was. "You're not a tease. If anything, you're the complete opposite of that-it's what I like about you, you don't play games like other women. One of the _many_ things I like about you. I know that you would never willingly deceive me or lead me on. But I want you to really stop and think about what you're doing here, about what you're in the process of trashing to bits. And, by all means, if there was ever a time for it, please let reason be your guide now, because logic would tell you loud and clear that you should stay and give this more time. If you go back, just what is it you think you're going back to? You and Booth have _nothing_, nothing at all outside the work you do."

The statement seemed to have the same effect as a cold shower on Brennan, exactly as it was meant to.

"You may _never_ have anything," Sully hammered on, taking advantage of her surprised reaction. "You're too different, you have so, _so_ little in common with him, Tempe. It's why you fight like cats and dogs-why you didn't get together in the first place, even though you've been partners for years. Is that what you want to go back to-more years of nothing? How can you ignore all that non-history? You like facts-well, here they are; examine them all you want."

"Booth and I share more outside of work than you're choosing to acknowledge," she countered feebly.

"And he, is he in love with _you_? No, don't answer that," he said, immediately retracting the question when he realized how stupid it was. "Of course he is-I may not have all of Booth's super-agent skills, but even I'm not that oblivious." He shook his head at his own inability to see things for what they were a lot sooner. No, not inability, he conceded-he just didn't _want_ to see them, and for that, he was as at least as much to blame for this mess as she.

"It sure explains why he was always being such a pain in the ass around me, hounding me whenever I was near you. And here I just thought it was only your typical, pee-higher-than-you territorial guy behavior. I wasn't just encroaching on his space, I was encroaching on _his girl_."

He suddenly got down on one knee and gripped her hand before she could take it away like she did the last time, forcing her with the gesture to look him straight in the eye.

"I, Tim Sullivan, a man who loves you, who is willing to do anything for you, am offering you a good, balanced life, right here, right now, Temperance. You don't have to wait, or look, or hope for it-it's already here. We have such a great time together; we talk about books, we watch movies, we exchange ideas, we laugh; all the things that happy, healthy adult relationships are made of. I'm asking you to please give it more time-you're just feeling homesick and maybe a little bit bored, and you're latching onto Booth as an excuse to get back into the familiar rut that was your life in D.C. You're making him and your relationship into something they're not and never were. Give it another month or two here. We'll rent that house we looked at where you can catch the sunrise on one side and the sunset on the other; you can let yourself really get into all that research that you were planning on doing at the Institute on Amazon basin tribal migrations, or whatever the hell it was. I promise you that by the end of that time you won't even remember why you wanted to leave in the first place."

"And in the meantime, while you wait for the results you want but that are by no means guaranteed or even likely to occur given what I've just told you, you're willing to overlook the fact that I may never be able to share the most important thing about me-my heart-with you? That I'm not sharing it with you now, because I might be in love with another man? Is that what you really want?"

"Listen to yourself-_might_. _Might_ be in love, not _am_ in love. None of those are facts-they're all just wishful thinking. As to what I want, I want you, Tempe, no questions asked."

"But _I'm_ always going to be asking questions, Sully; it can't be any other way for me. I need to know exactly what it is that I'm leaving behind in order to be able to move ahead with my future. Otherwise, I'll keep wondering about what things might have been like for the rest of my life. I can't continue getting involved with people half-way like I used to years ago when I was a more guarded, inflexible person, unwilling to compromise or to get too involved because it seemed like such a huge emotional risk to take. I'm finding that those types of relationships are no longer satisfying for me, and I know they could never be satisfying for you. You deserve better than a watered-down commitment."

When she saw the shimmer of sadness in his eyes, she finally broke down; tears started running down her face and Sully honest-to-goodness felt bad for her, despite all the negative emotions that were still swirling around in his heart. No matter what, he still loved this woman, even if she had just shattered so many of his dreams.

"I'm sorry for hurting you, Sully. I really wanted this to work. And I'm so grateful for these last few weeks-they were wonderful and life-affirming; everything that you said they would be. I wanted to believe that all this we have" she said, looking around her, "would be enough. I really did. But the longer I'm here the more I realize that it's not and that it won't ever be, just like I'm never going to be what you need; what you're entitled to because you're a very, very special man. Unfortunately, I'm quite certain that two more months is not going to change any of that."

He stood up, still holding onto her hand.

"When...when are you leaving?"

"I have a reservation on a flight to San Juan this afternoon. From there I'll catch a direct flight to Washington. I should be arriving at Reagan National Airport late this evening."

She glanced at her bags, and then she tilted her head, looking at Sully with what he sensed was a mixture of both affection and regret.

"Are you planning on remaining in Anguilla now that I'm not holding you back? You could go anywhere in the world now. I'm aware that the only reason you were willing to settle in one place so early in your scheduled itinerary was to allow me to continue my work. It was very generous as well as thoughtful of you."

"You weren't holding me back, Tempe; you were my anchor, in the very best sense of the word; you kept me grounded. And yeah, I was planning on sailing around more before I picked a spot for my business, but I kind of like it here. It's beautiful, the people are friendly, weather's great, lots of opportunities for chartering. I told you, it's paradise. What's there not to love, other than the fact that you won't be here to share any of it with me," he asked dolefully.

"It _is_ beautiful; I'm going to miss it-and you. I need to do this, Sully; I feel I have no choice in the matter. The brutal frankness you mentioned before in reference to me unfortunately extends to my own life, not just to the people and things around me, and I won't be satisfied until I figure this out, regardless of whether the result of my search proves to be fruitful or not."

"Well, if it doesn't work out with Booth, you know where to find me. The door of my cabin will always be open when it comes to you."

"Thank you. I know I have no right to ask this, but I hope you can forgive me some day, and that you will retain at least some of the memories of the good times we shared."

"No need for forgiveness, Tempe; we can't help how we feel; not you, not me. Pretending may work out for a while, but in the long run..." he shook his head, "we both know how that ends. And those memories we made, I'll _never_ get rid of those-what we had, for as long as we had it, was really something. I'm keeping them all. Maybe not the last three or four days, but the rest, they're right here" he said, tapping his fingers over his heart. "You keep them there too, not just in that beautiful head of yours-and if you want to live some of them all over again, just grab a plane and come back. But don't wait too long, I might not be here forever."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek before picking up her luggage.

"I hope you find what you're looking for, Tempe, whatever or whoever it may be."

"So do I. Goodbye, Sully."

She walked away, never once looking back, not even as the cab hurried her away down the deserted strip. And just like that, with a quick snap of the fingers, she was out of his life, heading back to a world as different from Anguilla as you could get. A world that Sully guessed she really knew absolutely nothing about, despite having lived in it for years.

He was absolutely going to need that champagne now, he thought laconically, as he picked up the still intact thick green bottle from the deck and popped off its cork into the sea.

"I sure hope Booth has the good sense to see what's coming his way" he said to himself, taking a welcome swig of the now lukewarm, too-sweet liquid. At least it still had bubbles.

"You're one lucky bastard, Seeley" he breathed out after a gulp. "Lucky, lucky bastard."


	7. Touchdown

The vast, threatening void that lay underneath slowly began giving way to the faint flicker of lights on the mainland, and Brennan breathed a weary sigh of relief. From what she could make of the tentative outline, they were probably flying over the northern boundary of the Outer Banks off the coast of North Carolina. It wouldn't be long now; maybe another half hour, and she'd be seeing the bright, chaotic jumble of Washington-her _real_ home, as far as she had one at all.

And not a moment too soon.

The trip back had been all-around lousy, for no other reason than it was deeply disturbing to be trapped inside this sense of coiled waiting, like a fly stuck in amber, unable to do anything but dwell on the painful scene with Sully from earlier in the day. Her thoughts were all mixed up, chaotic and shapeless; as undecipherable to Brennan as the blind emptiness of the ocean they were just leaving behind.

She might be getting ever closer to home, but she was feeling that she was in alien territory now, having lost sight of her true north for the first time in years. No longer able to distinguish what was right in her life, only what was wrong. And staying with Sully in Anguilla would have been-without question-wrong; the only part of this entire equation she still had any type of handle on. It had come to her like the startling bang of a firecracker on the heels of that haunting dream less than a week ago, still ringing loudly in her ears.

Things _were_ amiss, but there was no easy fix that she could come up with, and that probably bothered her most of all. She had always found solutions for everything-so why not for this? Were emotions supposed to be this complicated?

Other people, regular people, might have 'given it more time' as Sully had so impassionedly suggested; might have played along to see if the way they _should_ be feeling would eventually materialize if they just kept acting the part.

But as Sully had said, she wasn't any good at pretending.

Much to her chagrin, she had to make her peace with the fact that the experiment with Sully had simply come to its natural conclusion, and that the hypothesis which had been posited at its start-that she could come to love him with the same vibrant devotion which he seemed to feel for her once she was far removed from the distractions and attachments that usually tied her down-had ultimately been proven wrong. An utter failure right from the beginning.

Under the circumstances, what else was there but leaving?

She could keep repeating the test, changing some of the variables in the process, but the essential, immutable elements of it-her and Sully-wouldn't change, and thus by natural extension neither would the results.

Any scientist, even a mediocre one, would have agreed.

Poor Sully, though; it made her ill to think of the damage she'd inadvertently done to him-to not only have seen but felt his immediate desperation when she told him she was going back to Washington. She'd been dreading it, putting it off until she could no longer keep it all inside. Knowing him like she did, that he'd try everything he could to keep her by his side, and that he'd be hurt all over again when he realized there was no way he could possibly succeed.

She was awful with people, a brittle voice inside her head hissed, making itself heard even over the loud hum of the plane's engine, over the fussy cries of the infant a few seats back. What business did she have entering into a relationship with Sully?

With anyone at all, for that matter?

The plane began to lose altitude and the pilot's easygoing, confident voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing that they were going to land shortly. There was a pronounced jolt followed by a loud whir as the landing gear emerged from the plane's belly, and Brennan began to collect her few belongings; a book she'd barely leafed through, a laptop which had remained in its case the entire trip. She was feeling numb and empty ever since she'd gotten off Sully's boat, a wandering spirit caught between worlds, without any guarantee she'd be let in to the one she now knew she wanted to be a part of.

As they taxied to the terminal, she noticed that the landscape was covered in a quilt of virtuous white. Snowflakes were swirling all around the plane, reminding her of just how different this place was from the one she'd just left. No iguanas lazily sunning themselves on the tarmac, no clear blue skies to bask in. The sharp contrast highlighted the fact that she was truly back-it just didn't answer the question why.

There were, of course, the obvious answers.

Like her unexpected attachment to the Jeffersonian and its staff. To the work that had always given her life purpose and direction, and to the people who, in one of those strange twists of fate, had become her friends, brazenly disregarding her constant efforts to keep them at arms' length.

And then there was Booth.

Booth.

Her partner.

Her _former_ partner, she reminded herself sharply.

She wondered whether he still worked with the Jeffersonian's staff, or whether he had requested to be reassigned to some other type of work since he never seemed to have much affinity for the lab's cold environment. Had he paired up with anyone else in her absence? Did he think of her at all? She certainly hadn't given him much reason to; hadn't called, not even exchanged a single email with him since she'd left.

It had been less...complicated to keep things so purposefully sterile and distant-and he must have felt it too. It's undoubtably why, when Angela, Cam and some of her interns came by the dock to see her and Sully off on their trip, Booth hadn't been one of the members of their little group.

She had equally hoped and feared that he'd show up that morning, without knowing why she felt all that sudden ambivalence about him. And maybe that should have been her first clue that things with Sully wouldn't end up well.

_"You fought all the time, Tempe. That's all I ever saw you guys do."_

What could she say to that? Looking at the situation objectively, Sully was right. But despite all those perfectly valid, virtually flawless arguments he'd laid out before her, she was still convinced that fighting wasn't all that defined her relationship with Booth; that there was much more to the two of them that Sully couldn't possibly understand, because in fairness to him, few outsiders ever got the chance to catch even a glimpse of it. Moments within moments within moments, all folded neat and tight into each other like a carefully crafted origami sculpture, adding up to something which was deceptively simple as well as strong; beautiful and-_now_ she finally understood-exceedingly rare.

She guessed it was those undefinable moments between them that were calling her back, like an errant tide compelled to follow the gravitational pull of the moon. Even when one couldn't see this seemingly mysterious force of nature, couldn't touch it, it was impossible to argue against its existence.

So ultimately, she supposed, the reason she was really back in Washington was to determine if there was more to her partnership with Booth than met the eye. More than just a heated kiss in the rain, more than just an entrancing speech about the meaning of making love which had left her punch-drunk afterwards for a minute or two. More than overt sexual chemistry and a loyal friendship.

More than a single, isolated dream.

How could she convey all of these hopes and desires she harbored about Booth to Sully? His arguments about her and Booth's relationship were as sound as hers were seemingly irrational; there was no possible way Sully could ever understand, when she couldn't figure it out herself.

Besides, while she sincerely believed in the value of honesty, in this case he was probably better off not knowing all the details. They could only hurt him more.

The fact that there might not be anything more between her and her partner didn't change anything. She'd already accepted days ago that there was a very real possibility that if she returned to Washington, life would just continue being what it was before-work and nothing else. Maybe less than that, if Booth refused to involve himself with her in any capacity because he felt-rightfully, perhaps-betrayed by some of her recent choices.

What then? Where to go from there? Her head was throbbing violently as she made her way down the plane's narrow aisle; maybe those were questions best left for another day, when she didn't feel so drained.

Somewhere between the airport and her apartment, she found herself standing in front of the off-hours entrance to the Jeffersonian even though she could've sworn she gave the taxi driver her home address. It was a little like a sleepwalker suddenly waking up mid-dream; certain they were heading one way, perplexed to discover they were in a totally different place instead.

She shook her head. It figured; it had just been that kind of off-kilter day all around.

The Jeffersonian.

Why had she come here, of all places? She should have just gone straight home, taken a shower, had a drink, and gone to bed. Habit maybe, or a desire to start this latest journey from a place where she felt safe and grounded. Even more than her unarguably more luxurious, uncluttered condo, this old, meandering building filled to the brim with death and marvels and strange curiosities made her feel like she belonged somewhere; that there was a place in the world for her. It was also how Booth made her feel, almost from the very beginning-that she belonged to someone.

But of course she didn't belong to anyone, and they didn't belong to each other; not now, and maybe not ever.

Even though it was already very late and she had no reason for going in, she went ahead anyway, pleased to discover as she signed in with the guard that her security card hadn't been deactivated.

_Everything is the same_, Brennan thought, her eyes carefully going over the main room of the lab with its impressive, industrial platform dominating the ample space.

_Or was it?_

As Brennan stood in the shadows debating whether to grab her bags and go home or walk up to her office for a quick inspection, her old boss suddenly rounded a corner at her usual brisk pace, almost running smack dab into her. Doing a double take, Cam took a step back, her shocked face betraying her incredulity at seeing the anthropologist so far away from where she was supposed to be.

"Dr. Brennan! You're back!"

And so, ready or not, the explanations and justifications were about to start, much earlier than Brennan had prepared for.


	8. Curveball

_Being that this is fanfiction, I've taken the liberty of bringing a character into the story who didn't actually make an apperance on the show until much later. Since we all know who this person is, I figured it would be easier to refer to them rather than to create a different character with a convoluted backstory. Hope this doesn't bother anyone too much; it's not going to be a major plot point._

"I'm sorry, Dr. Saroyan," Brennan quickly apologized. "I should have informed you of my visit before stopping by; you seem rather upset by my presence."

"No, no; not upset, Dr. Brennan. Never. It's just I wasn't expecting to see you. I didn't think anyone was around; it's late. I've been looking at so many dead people today that for a minute I thought you were a ghost."

"I know you're a woman of science; I'm certain that you don't actually believe in the existence of non-corporeal beings. Clearly, I'm standing in front of you, thereby confirming on all fronts the fact that I'm real and not an apparition."

"And now I know for sure that it's _really_ you, Dr. Brennan," Cam replied, finally breaking into the grin she'd been trying so hard to stifle. "So what brings you back to DC? Aren't you supposed to be sailing from port to port with Sully, kind of like the Owl and the Pussycat?"

Brennan eyes narrowed in confusion.

"You know, the poem?" Cam prompted, when her colleague kept staring blankly in her direction. "The owl and the pussycat went to sea in a beautiful pea green boat? Plenty of honey and...oh, forget it; I'm a little loopy tonight."

"I'm indeed familiar with the 19th century children's poem by Edward Lear; I just don't understand what semblance it bears to what Sully and I were doing, aside from the fact that there was some type of sea vessel involved. We're human beings, not animals belonging to completely different species which in their natural habitat would most likely be providing a food source for each other."

"Wow" Cam said, reminded for the second time in the span of thirty seconds of just how very literal the forensic anthropologist could be. Actually, she had to admit, she had sort of missed that about her. It kept everyone, herself included, on their very tippy-toes.

"I can totally see that there's nothing in common between those two things, now that you mention it."

The mild humor in Cam's tone was completely lost on Brennan.

"I"m glad you agree."

"But you still haven't answered my question, not that you have to, of course. Are you here on business, or did you leave something behind in your office that you realized you couldn't live without?"

Brennan unconsciously clenched her teeth, looking around her uncomfortably. Not 'something'-a certain 'someone' might perhaps have been a more accurate guess.

"No; I didn't leave anything behind. I'm ending my sabbatical. I stopped by tonight to make sure things were in order before I came back to work tomorrow; I wasn't sure if you had temporarily assigned my office to someone else."

"You're wrapping up your sabbatical this early? You've barely been gone a month, Dr. Brennan. You were supposed to be on leave for an entire year. Did things not work out" Cam was about to add, "with Sully?" but she cut the sentence short. Even if she _was_ totally busting at the seams with curiosity, it really wasn't any of her business. Besides, she could always get the scoop from Angela later, even if asking might come with a small dash of gossiper's remorse.

"While I don't believe that discussions about personal affairs have any place in a professional environment, I understand perfectly the compelling nature of human curiosity, particularly in this case when both parties are so well known to you. No, 'things' did not work out. Sully and I have decided to go our separate ways. Actually" she said, conceding that she was being disingenuous and that Cam, as the person who had facilitated her leave in the first place, probably deserved a fuller explanation than she was currently providing, "I decided to return for reasons that aren't exactly clear to me. I guess I didn't feel the way you're supposed to feel when you're happy and 'in love,' whatever that expression means beyond the obvious physiological reactions which inhabiting that emotional state provoke. I would prefer if you wouldn't discuss the motivations behind my early return with the staff, though."

Brennan shook her head helplessly.

"I wish I could explain it better than that" she said, so quietly that Cam had to strain her ears to catch the end of the sentence.

"You've explained it pretty well, Dr. Brennan. When it comes to love, words can sometimes be hard to come by. And don't worry, my lips are sealed. I'm sorry, though."

"About my aborted trip? Why? It doesn't impact you at all; I would think you'd be happy to have me back. Besides, Sully and I parted on fairly amicable terms; there was no drawn out dramatic scene and very little of what could be commonly categorized as angst."

"_Oh, Dr. Brennan_" Cam said under her breath, smiling sympathetically like the parent of a child who was trying very hard not to show how hurt they were after a bad fall. "Of course I'm happy you're here; the reason I'm sorry is that I know that breaking up with someone, even if it was on relatively friendly terms, is still messy and traumatic, no matter which way you slice it. I just feel bad that you had to go through all that. But yes, I'm ecstatic to have you back in the fold; we were still looking for your replacement, and it hasn't been going well. Pretty abysmally, actually-you're a very tough act to follow. So as bad as I feel about your situation, you just made my day."

"I would think I'm almost impossible to replace" Brennan said, absently thumbing the ID she still held in her hands. She stared down at it with a far-away look in her eyes.

"Thank you for not deactivating my identification card; while I would have understood the logic behind voiding it, it nevertheless pleases me a great deal that you didn't."

"I figured you might want to pop in once in a while, if you ever had stuff to do in town. You still work here, after all."

Cam noticed that her colleague seemed to have something on her mind other than IDs, something much closer to her heart that she was on the fence about asking.

"Anything you want info on while I'm here?" she ventured helpfully. "To make your return smoother, you know."

A troubled expression crossed Brennan's face, but she composed herself almost immediately.

"No."

Cam shrugged her shoulders, giving up almost immediately on her errand of mercy. It was late, she was tired, and her feet hurt; she could deal with the issue of Dr. Brennan's mysterious behavior tomorrow.

"Alright, then. Well, I'm heading home. It's been a humdinger of a day-_way_ too many bodies in fourteen hours. Welcome back, Dr. Brennan."

Cam began walking towards the door, when she heard the anthropologist's uncertain voice.

"How…how is everyone doing?"

Cam's radar came on almost immediately; it was beyond the realm of possibility for her pithy coworker to be asking a question merely to be polite.

"If you mean the people here at the lab, they're all doing fine. I assume you've heard from Angela, so I probably don't need to give you the run down on her and Hodgins."

"Actually, I haven't communicated with anyone since I left."

"Oh" Cam said, not sounding terribly surprised. "No one?"

Brennan shook her head. "I had nothing of significance to report, and I gathered that if anything here needed my immediate attention, someone from the Jeffersonian would contact me; all my personal information is on file. I realize that perhaps this makes me seem somewhat anti-social. I just don't do casual conversations well."

"It just makes you you, Dr. Brennan; no one here takes it personally. Most of us don't, anyway."

"_Most of us don't._"

The statement left Brennan uneasy; it implied that someone did.

"So Angela is well?"

"She's doing great, and so is Hodgins. Still together."

Cam paused for a second, looking at Brennan with an expectant half-smile.

"Anyone else you care to know about while we're on this topic?"

Cam knew. Of course she knew.

Brennan glanced away before summoning the courage to ask "Booth?"

"So no talking to Booth either?"

"Being that you're one of his best friends, I'm sure you already knew that."

"Yeah," Cam admitted, ashamed to have so nakedly baited her subordinate into putting her cards on the table. "He did mention it in passing. Booth's good too. He doesn't come around too often these days-we mainly talk on the phone. He never liked the lab all that much-I think he always felt out of place here with all the technical stuff going on and all the Latin phrases being thrown around. I'm pretty sure he only hung around because of you."

Brennan looked up, wide-eyed.

"You know-because of the work you guys did together," Cam immediately amended.

"Yes, of course. " Although her answer came out in a perfectly calm voice, underneath, Brennan still felt the shock of Cam's initial statement. Naturally, that wasn't what Cam had meant at all-that Booth might have some kind of personal attachment to her beyond their cases. Cam was simply stating a fact.

"However" Brennan continued, "since Booth's primary job with the FBI consists of investigating murders, I figured he'd continue working with you and the rest off the staff in my absence."

"Actually, he asked to be put on this big money-laundering case right after you left; no dead people on that one, so far. May happen yet though, who knows."

Cam threw out one more piece of information, to see whether her suspicions about where this particular line of questioning was going were correct.

"He's got a temporary partner, just for this case. You know her; Agent Perotta."

"Perotta?"

"Remember her? Perky, blonde, petite, and very efficient despite her small size. Sets her sights on something, and doesn't quit 'til she gets it. Can get on your nerves sometimes, I'm sorry to say."

Brennan mulled over this piece of news, as an unpleasant sensation she hadn't felt before coursed through her.

"I do. I'm surprised Booth would have sought out a new partner so quickly" she said, unable to hide her disappointment. "He once told me he preferred working along. He only agreed to work with me on a regular basis because I refused to cooperate on a major investigation otherwise. I essentially blackmailed him into it."

Perotta. A new partner; a beautiful, resourceful, socially adept partner, who had hinted more than once that she found Booth attractive. How did that pairing come about, Brennan wondered. Had Perotta requested it, or had he? The who mattered a great deal, but she couldn't bring herself to ask.

"It was Booth's case, but she wanted to help out" Cam replied, hoping to put to some of her coworker's very transparent fears to rest.

"It must be an interesting case."

"Yes," Cam agreed solemnly. "It certainly seems to be _very_ popular. But I think Agent Perotta just felt that Booth might be a little shaky working alone for the first time in a while. You know, people get used to doing things a certain way, even if they initially didn't want to, and then it's hard for them to go and do it the old way. She's just helping him to transition."

Booth was working with someone else; her place had already been taken. Had the opportunity for something more between them been lost as well?

"It's helpful of her" Brennan replied without much fervor. "But she always seemed to like Booth," she went on philosophically. "I believe she was even physically attracted to him, judging by her comments to me and by her overt body language denoting sexual interest whenever she was in close proximity to Booth; he probably found her attractive as well. After all, she fits quite comfortably within the parameters of what Booth considers to be an ideal mate."

"An ideal mate? You mean his type?" Cam asked.

"Yes. She's beautiful, competent, socially proficient-and blonde. There have been several important women in his personal life who've met that description. Actually, those attributes fit you perfectly as well, except, of course, for the blonde part. Perhaps Booth and Perotta will end up having a sexual relationship, as you and Booth once did."

Cam's mouth opened, and then quickly closed again.

"I think that's my cue to go home" the coroner said, once she was able to talk again. "See you tomorrow, Dr. Brennan. I meant it back then, very glad to have you back. And don't worry, things will work themselves out."

"Things?"

"With B...at the office. Sweet dreams."


End file.
